Temperance
by pyrat-xo
Summary: It's 1927 in New York City and the Wandering Souls speakeasy has it rough on the border of Chinatown and Little Italy. Life's a very funny proposition, after all. Prohibition-era gangster AU.
1. Abejas que tienen miel tienen aguijón

**Warning**: This is a Bleach fic set in 1927, during the Prohibition era. There will be language, violence, murder, racism, sexism, and just generally a lot of mature and potentially offensive themes. Every single character in this story is a criminal in some form or another, and as people, they're indicative of the times, meaning they all set pretty bad examples for the modern day- don't try this at home! Clear out if that's not your thing; this is the only warning you'll get.

* * *

><p><em><em>Abejas que tienen miel tienen aguijón.<em>_

_July 15, 1927._

Rangiku shifted away from the man leaning on the counter and motioned for Rikichi to pour her another shot. "Carlo, isn't it? I'm a little tired tonight, so whatever you're expecting, it's not happening. Besides," she added with a sharp smile, "you're not my type."

Carlo frowned, blinked owlishly, sidled closer and put a hand on her wrist, grip tightening when she tried to pull away. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, muscles of his face drooping, and his breath smelled like a few too many glasses of whiskey.

Rangiku rolled her eyes, then looked over her shoulder to try to catch one of the guys in the band up on the stage. Renji had his eyes shut, lips pressed to his trumpet's mouthpiece. Shuuhei was the same on his sax; Iba's back was to her, but he was just lounging in his seat at the drums. Rikichi had a hand on the neck of a bottle, but he was pretty small guy. She didn't really like breaking character so early in the evening, but Rangiku said just loudly enough to be jarring, "Not interested!" That was just enough to draw Shuuhei's attention, and she took the spare second to dig her nails into the back of Carlo's hand before throwing it off her wrist.

She vaguely noted the music slowing, then stopping, and Carlo reaching into his jacket with his free hand.

Rangiku mentally kicked herself in the face.

Of _course _he'd be armed. Of course he was drunk enough to pull a gun in exactly the wrong place on exactly the wrong person. She would've kicked him, but that might've set him off reflexively. She had already liberated the bottle from Rikichi, had it poised above the edge of the bar- but that ended up not being necessary. There was a piercing whistle from the stage, and then the sound of a couch overturning as someone vaulted over it.

Rangiku looked over Carlo's shoulder, eyes widening, then ducked as a bottle shattered against the back of his head. She straightened up to the man hitting the floor and Ikkaku hauling him up by the neck to wrench the pistol out of his hand and slam him up against the wall.

A few of the other patrons looked up. Then, in true New Yorker style, went back to their drinks and conversation.

Ikkaku slammed his fist into Carlo's face, then cast a sidelong glance in her direction. "Havin' a little trouble here?"

Renji flashed her a thumbs-up when she glanced at the stage, then pointed to the entrance of the lounge, where Yumichika was hefting another bottle in his hands. Wickedly good aim had always been one of those talents the boss never let him brag about, but he liked to show off enough- spread his tail feathers, as it were- that it didn't even matter that he wasn't allowed to bring it up at every opportunity.

Ikkaku slammed Carlo against the wall again, and Rangiku flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes. She crossed her arms, smiled, leaned back against the bar. A little apologetically, she sighed, "Not even a _Hey, you look good tonight_?"

"Me, Boss and Yumichika were all tied up an' we come back to you in a pinch." Ikkaku bumped up the brim of his hat, shamelessly eyed her legs and the way her new dress hugged her curves, then grinned. "Ya look good tonight, Matsumoto."

Rikichi brought out a broom and a rag and started cleaning up. The bottle had been empty but shattered glass now littered the floor. Rangiku picked a piece off the bar and idly turned it in her hand, carefully avoiding the edges. "The right answer was, You look good _every_ night, Matsumoto."

"Yeah, that's the problem." Ikkaku looked back to Carlo and handed him off to Renji, who promptly bent his arm behind his back. Yumichika bounded up while Kenpachi calmly took in the scene, and then disappeared into his office with an annoyed grumble. Ikkaku reached into Carlo's jacket and dragged out a black leather wallet to check his driver's license, only glancing up momentarily when the door to Kenpachi's office clicked shut.

"Carlo Mancini. That's Italian, right?"

Iba glanced over his shoulder from the stage, clacked his drumsticks to draw attention back to the band, and Shuuhei busted out a slow intro on his sax. Yumichika leaned into Ikkaku's side and pulled his arm down to get a better look at the card. "He's one of Enrico's fellas. Timoteo's boy. I saw them in Jersey last week."

"I'll let Boss know." Ikkaku shrugged, put the card and wallet back, then wrapped an arm around Matsumoto's waist to drag her into a quick hug, planting a kiss on her temple. "This slinky little number new? Your hair looks great."

Yumichika shook his head and motioned for Rikichi to pour them all a shot of something strong. "Ikkaku, you cheat, I told you that when we walked in."

Matsumoto blew him a kiss and gave Ikkaku's tie an affectionate tug. "Good to see you fellas, too."

Renji smirked, shook his head and dragged Mancini away, mercilessly ignoring his unsteady gait and. He gained his feet at the bottom of the stairs, and Renji pulled him up and out, through a short tunnel, up another set of steps to the door, clapping Kira on the shoulder as he reached the exit. He hauled Mancini into the alley, down Canal Street, a few blocks into Little Italy, then shoved him at the curb once he had recovered a bit from Yumichika's concussive throw.

Ikkaku was waiting around outside when he ducked into the alley to get to the back door, and Renji took a proffered cigarette gratefully. He struck a match on the wall and they both lit up.

Renji took a long drag, glanced out of the alley to make sure no one would see them, and said quietly through a thick cloud of smoke, "Long day?"

They couldn't see much of each other beyond the glow of cigarette tips, but Ikkaku lifted his shoulders in a tired shrug and said, "Yeah. You?"

"Pretty slow actually. Except for-"

Ikkaku snorted. "Matsumoto-"

"Hah, yeah. Yumichika was great, did you see it?"

Ikkaku had already been dashing for the bar when Yumichika threw the wine bottle, but it had been an alarmingly close call. "Saw it goin' by my ear."

They grinned at each other, finished their smokes and dropped them to the concrete, grinding their heels down on the glowing butts. Ikkaku knocked twice on the door, paused for a five-count, then knocked three more times. Kira, from the other side, unlatched the slot in the door and peered out. Ikkaku pulled his hat down over his eyes to flash a small, silver diamond-shaped pin secured to the band. They couldn't see Kira's mouth, but both of them knew he was smiling sheepishly at them. "Renji's got to show it, too. Sorry, gentlemen, security first."

"Alright, alright, I got it-"

Renji took about a minute to dig up his own pin out of a back pocket, after searching all his other ones ("Master'a speed an' stealth, Renji, the cops'll never see us _now_.") and after Kira let them in, they both clapped him on the shoulder. Renji latched the door behind him and asked, "Wanna switch off? How long you been up here?"

Kira picked up a book and idly flipped through a few pages. "Not too long, actually. I just had dinner. Got a few hours to go before I'll get bored, anyway."

They nodded, then brushed past to reach the stairs, which Renji took two at a time down to the main bar area. Ikkaku jumped the last three, plowing into Renji's back with a friendly shove and they scuffled like kids at the entrance for a few seconds. Renji fixed the collar of his shirt and Ikkaku straightened his hat, then rolled the cuffs of his sleeves back up. His tie had already been loose, so he didn't bother with it and Renji never tied his at all, though he kept it draped around his neck most of the time- just in case he had to use it in a hurry.

Yumichika poured them both a small glass of whiskey and settled on the couch nearest the bar. Ikkaku picked up his and settled down at another table somewhere closer to the exit, occupied by a few college students. Renji joined him a few minutes later, leaning over the back of the couch to talk to Ikkaku. One of them, the one nestled right up against Ikkaku's side, sent Renji a dangerous sort of glare and leaned hard into his shoulder. He glanced down, as if he'd forgotten she was there for a second, and Matsumoto and Yumichika rolled their eyes at each other.

Yumichika settled deeper into the couch. "And we've only been back for twenty minutes."

"Wish I could hear what they're saying."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll hear all about it in the morning." Yumichika held up his glass, and Matsumoto clinked hers against it.

"Catch me up, Yumichika?"

"Same old. The Triads were stonewalling us." He took a slow sip, set down the glass and continued, "You know how they are. Always polite but vaguely threatening, unless they're trying to gun you down."

"Boss get anywhere with them? Were they-"

"They wanted a cut of our profits, for 'protection'. Boss did what he always does. No, they didn't try to gun us down."

Matsumoto crossed her ankles and gave Yumichika a long, calculating look. "Mr. Chang say anything about it?"

Yumichika gestured vaguely. "It was supposed to be an update talk, so he wasn't there. They tried to squeeze us, so Ikkaku ducked out about halfway through the meeting to find Two-Hands, and they came back with Chang."

Matsumoto smiled. "I'll bet he was pretty mad."

Yumichika's expression reminded Matsumoto of a cat that had just gorged itself on an endless lake of cream- or maybe a lion resting after feasting on a fresh kill. He practically purred, "He walked them out at gunpoint."

"I can't decide whether to hate or love that man."

Yumichika raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it back behind his ear, and knocked back the last of his drink. "Do both. We're sort of on his side."

"Cheers, babe."

* * *

><p>Keigo watched Mizuho nurse a gin and tonic, then put her free hand on the bald man's knee. Keigo decided that he wouldn't let him lead her off somewhere once she was good and drunk, though if she were really that determined to get down his pants, there was nothing either of them could do about it. Ikkaku, for his part, largely ignored it, but then again he did have an arm around her shoulders and Keigo silently hoped to hell that it wouldn't go any further than that.<p>

Ichigo sipped slowly at his red wine. He didn't drink very often, but Keigo had suggested Wandering Souls after their class ended, and they all figured- why not? Mizuho's friends and Mizuiro were familiar with the place, and even though there were gin joints closer to the university, a crowd of young Japanese-American adults (the word is teenagers, lately) would stand out too much anywhere else. Besides, it was Ichigo's birthday. They had to celebrate.

Another man with a shock of bright red hair, a headband wrapped over tattoos above his eyebrows, leaned over the back of the couch just behind Ikkaku to say something indistinct into his ear. They snickered quietly at each other, then Ikkaku snagged the ends of the new guy's tie and dragged him down by the neck in a completely involuntary bow. "This here's Renji. He works with me, but he's only in town for a couple more months. 'S alright if you forget his name."

Renji pried Ikkaku's hand off his tie and smoothed it out with a rueful look. "You kids even old enough to drink?"

Ichigo shrugged, finished off his wine and put a hand to his cheek to check whether or not he had turned red. "How much more illegal could it get?"

Renji and Ikkaku shrugged at each other. They'd been drinking harder since they were younger, and with alcohol itself illegal, there was no such tihng as a 'drinking age', anymore. "Good point," Renji conceded.

"Na, Mizuho." Ikkaku tapped Mizuho on the shoulder and gestured around the table. "Sound off again. I don't know all your names yet. Renji don't know any of you, either."

"But you knew _my_ name."

Keigo sighed and pointed at himself, then to Mizuho. "Asano Keigo. That's my sister." He added under his breath, "Unfortunately."

A nod. "Kurosaki Ichigo."

An almost identical nod. "Arisawa Tatsuki."

"Inoue Orihime. It's nice to meet you both!"

"Well, lookit that, Renji. They even introduce themselves right."

"All of you are Jap? You two didn't look it," he said, gesturing at Ichigo and Orihime.

"We're half."

Renji smiled widely at that. He didn't exactly look like anything, himself. "You related? _Issei_? _Nisei_? All of you."

Ichigo grinned back. "They're first-generation, yeah. Came over when you were kids, right? Tatsuki, Inoue and me are second. We're not related though. At least I don't think so."

"So're most'a us. Boss Zaraki was born in Hawaii even, right, Ikkaku?"

"Yeah. Honolulu. Renji's from California."

Ichigo put down his glass, leaned forward, and gestured to his left. Renji vaguely noted that that was North, but he was too caught up in the conversation to correct him. "My dad came here from Sacramento!"

"No kidding! I was born in Los Angeles. Got here 'bout ten years ago 'cause of, ah." He glanced briefly at Ikkaku and finished, "A friend."

Ikkaku pulled the brim of his hat down over his face and let his head drop onto the back of the couch. "Long, boring story. Rukia could tell it better, anyway."

Tatsuki spoke up outside of introducing herself for the first time since Ikkaku had sat down. "Who's native? Since we're here and all."

Keigo laced his fingers behind his neck and settled deeper into the couch. "Arisawa's from Brooklyn," he said, like that would explain everything. In a way, it sort of did.

That got Ikkaku's attention, and he lifted his hat off his face to get another look at her. "I'm from right 'round here."

Renji cut in with, "He thinks, anyway."

Tatsuki extended her fist across the table, and Ikkaku leaned in and bumped it lightly with his own. She propped her feet up on the edge of the table and looked around the lounge again. "So what about the rest of you?"

Renji leaned back so he just barely cleared Tatsuki's shoulder against the back of the couch, then threw his arm over the back. "Not a lot'a us are full-blooded anything. Hell, Ikkaku doesn't even know what he is."

"Sure I do. I'm a fuckin' American."

"He speaks_ Chinese_, too, after forgettin' most'a his Japanese."

"So you're sayin' this ain't Chinatown?"

Renji sneered back, "I'm sayin' you're a goddamn Chink."

"How 'bout you shut your dumb fuckin' mouth before I do it for you," Ikkaku said easily.

"My, my, _my_," Yumichika drawled as he drew up to the table, Rangiku on his heels. "What's Renji _razzin'_ you about this time?" He put a sort of emphasis on the word that everyone knew to mean that it left a bad taste in his mouth. "We're not going to need a leash now, are we?"

Keigo felt his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when the busty blonde goddess stepped out from behind Yumichika. Rangiku cheerfully rubbed the back of Ikkaku's head and waved at the rest of the table. ("For luck! The rest of you should do it too!")

Ikkaku jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "This's Yumichika. That's Matsumoto. He plays the piano. She'll make ya hate life."

"Well, I have to do _something_ in my free time," Yumichika said, nodding once in greeting.

Matsumoto pulled her bottom lip coyly between her teeth, then pouted. She looked mortally wounded by his words, but Ikkaku ignored it in a way that suggested (at least to Keigo) a complete lack of compassion. And eyes. And maybe interest in women. She said, "Oh, that's mean, Ikkaku."

Few women were as sharp as Matsumoto was, and even fewer could handle themselves better. Ikkaku, for his part, thought that if she wanted him to be nice to her, then she had damn well better be in some mental anguish. "Don't stop it from bein' true, does it?"

Matsumoto shrugged, then moved around the couch to sit on the arm next to Renji. "I suppose it doesn't! Renji, I think he lost his compassion along with all his hair!"

"_Hey!_"

Yumichika settled down on Ikkaku's other side, comfortably into his space, and then cheerfully shoved him over to make room. Ikkaku grunted, moved away (at the same time pressing himself just a little bit closer to an ecstatic and possibly very tipsy Mizuho) and hooked his elbow over the back of the couch to mirror Renji's position across the table. Keigo glanced anxiously around again and caught Ichigo giving Yumichika a long, appraising look. Ichigo waved to get his attention. "You threw that bottle a while ago, didn't you?"

"Yes, that was me, but don't assume I did it for Rangiku." Yumichika smiled back, razor-sharp, and added, "We can't afford to have someone gutted down here again."

Orihime might have gone pale, but Ichigo just nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can see that."

"It's bad for business," Matsumoto cheerfully clarified, "but our regulars love a good fight once in a while. Our fellas don't disappoint."

Keigo finally took a moment to get a look at the other customers, and for the first time was struck by how spacious the place was. It looked tiny from outside, but he noted high ceilings and granite walls (they were pretty far underground), tables scattered throughout the main lounge around a dance floor, comfortable sofas and lounge chairs around them, doors with heavy locks on them leading to places hitherto unexplored, a stage, billiards tables, poker tables, a bar- some of the customers looked like the normal, everyday socialites Keigo expected to see at a joint like Wandering Souls. Some of them were well-dressed and professional-looking, and the others looked like they could get into a fistfight literally _at any second_ with no provocation.

He couldn't really find it inside himself to be surprised.

The music in the background wound down slowly, and the two guys onstage moved off to hunker down at the bar.

Arisawa and Inoue were engrossed in conversation with Matsumoto, which meant that it just happened to be his time to join them. Join them in that wonderfully bouncy crowd down at the end of the table. He stepped over Ikkaku's legs, moved the glasses he and Renji had brought over to make some room, then sat down right on the table. "Hey Arisawa, Sis- either of you got the time?"

"Oh, no- wait." Matsumoto stretched out one long, shapely leg to nudge Yumichika on the knee with her foot. "Yumichika, what time is it?"

He checked his watch and answered, "About two in the morning."

She sighed. "So late already? And Ikkaku's been swearin' a lot, I bet you're both tired."

Ikkaku seemed awake enough to hold a decent conversation, but only in the way someone who had given up on sleep did. Yumichika might have started looking a little worse for wear. Keigo had gleaned from conversation earlier that their days didn't always drag on so long, and most of the time they woke up in the afternoon to work the joint at night or pick up a delivery.

Yumichika shared a long look with Ikkaku, then beamed back at Matsumoto, all the weariness seeming to slip off his shoulders. She was pretty sure he hadn't just suddenly perked up, but Yumichika had always been good at looking exactly how he wanted himself to look. "If we sleep now, we won't be able to stay awake tomorrow night, either. Besides, I know Ikkaku wants to help close up."

"Yeah, you'd all just screw it up somehow."

Renji glanced over, then motioned at an empty couch Yumichika had been eying. "You two should at least sleep until then. Promise I'll wake ya up."

Cheerfully ignoring Mizuho's murderous look, Yumichika let his head drop onto Ikkaku's shoulder. "But Ikkaku makes such a comfortable pillow right here."

"Alright, alright, I'll take a fuckin' nap. Thanks, grandma." Matsumoto was about to protest before cut her off with, "An' I do mean Renji."

Renji casually flipped him off, then kicked him lightly on the knee. Yumichika stood up slowly, stretching his arms and back, while Ikkaku leaned closer to Mizuho. "You all comin' back sometime soon? Hate to think'a kids like you drinkin' hooch out of some filthy joint uptown. Figure if you're gonna get bent anyway..."

"Oh," Mizuho purred, "we'll be back."

"Good." Ikkaku gave her shoulder one last squeeze before following Yumichika's example and glancing around the lounge. "Anyone in the office?"

Matsumoto shrugged. "Nanao and Nemu are doing paperwork. Don't go in."

Ikkaku moved to a table at a corner of the room farthest away from the stage, slouched into the seat, propped his feet up on the table, crossed his arms and let his chin drop down to his chest, eyes closed. Yumichika settled down next to him, using the armrest as a pillow and draping his legs over Ikkaku's to get comfortable. He didn't even react, for all the world acting as if Yumichika did this regularly.

Keigo looked over, then back to the table, opening his mouth as if to ask a question. Matsumoto cut him off with, "Don't ask us, kid. Ikkaku's had girlfriends, and I've seen Yumichika drool over some real cute Janes, but I dunno about 'em."

Renji snickered. "Think they've been buddies since they were kids. We useta joke that Yumichika's Ikkaku's most successful long-term relationship. Shit, his other ones never lasted that long."

Tatsuki repeated, with a barely-suppressed laugh, "Used to?"

Renji rubbed the back of his head, then readjusted his ponytail. "Yeah, he cracked a bottle over my head one time he got sick of it."

Mizuho raised an eyebrow, eyeing the back of the couch across the room the same way a particularly hungry wolf would stare at a rabbit. "Wow," she breathed.

Somewhat apologetically, Renji amended, "Yumichika did, I mean."

Everyone but Renji at the table took a second to snicker, or chuckle, or, in Orihime's case, muffle a quiet giggle in her hands. Her laugh turned into a yawn, and Tatsuki patted her on the shoulder. "You tired?"

"I'm okay."

"Orihime's tired, guys." She cracked her neck a few times, then stood up and motioned for Orihime to do the same. "I am too, actually, we had a real long test today and stayed up last night to study."

Ichigo nodded, then surged to his feet. "Time to go, then. Thanks, you guys, this place is real neat. Where's the bill?"

Matsumoto stood up, walked around the table to give Ichigo a hug that left him beet-red and sputtering. "Happy eighteenth, Ichigo! All drinks today on the house, as long as you fellas come back sometime soon. Bring your friends. Be a bad influence."

"Aww," Tatsuki said, not even pretending to be disappointed, "I was even going to pay."

"Yeah, I think we'll be back. Keigo won't forgive me otherwise, right?"

"Damn right I won't, Ichigo! Hey, Sis, how about a hug for me-"

Matsumoto easily sidestepped Keigo's arms, sending him straight into Renji's back, and Tatsuki buried her face against Orihime's shoulder to stifle a laugh. She shook hands with Renji, let Matsumoto drag both her and Orihime into a tight hug and then raked her hands back through her hair to make sure it was back to its original messy state. Mizuho stood up, cast one last glance around the lounge, then dragged Keigo by the collar of his shirt to the entrance and up the steps.

"They're nice kids," Matsumoto said quietly once they were gone.

Renji grinned and nodded. "Think they'll be back?"

"I dunno. Maybe." Matsumoto snagged Renji's tie and pulled him after her on the way to the bar. He put up some token resistance ("I ain't a dog!"), but went along anyway.

Iba poured two glasses of whiskey for them. Shuuhei raised a hand in a casual wave and dragged some stools over. Matsumoto settled in comfortably, leaned forward on the bar, just enough to make Rikichi's face burn, and smiled. "Band sounded real nice tonight, boys."

Iba nudged her on the arm, careful to make sure she had put down her whiskey first. "Would've sounded better with you up there with us."

"I was conducting negotiations until just a little while ago."

Iba rolled his eyes. "With?"

"_Federico_," she said, and ran her tongue across her teeth.

Shuuhei took that to mean she had had the poor man eating out of her hand. He took a long sip of- whatever he was drinking. He thought it might have been scotch. "How'd it go? That's Timoteo's oldest, isn't it?"

"Pretty well. He let slip about this year's Feast of San Gennaro."

"They're holding it again?" Iba asked, suddenly interested.

Matsumoto nodded absently. The festival last year had been the first and was pretty successful, not to mention pretty impressive, too.

"The don's a good guy," Iba added, nodding. "Think we're checkin' it out this year?"

"Oh, absolutely. Chang wants us to make sure they're not trying to expand into Chinatown too, but I don't think Timoteo plans to." She took a sip of her drink, grimaced at the taste and added, "His sons do, and you know how he is with them, but he's still got the last word, you know? Besides, Boss's little girl won't forgive us if we don't drop by."

Shuuhei glanced ruefully down at a scar on the back of his hand he had received chasing Yachiru down one of the halls to the storage room, when he had banged it against something sharp, and reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. "How's she doing?"

Iba shrugged, finished off his drink and passed the glass over the bar to Rikichi, then motioned for an ashtray. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in Ikkaku and Yumichika's general direction and folded his arms across the bar. "She's starting fourth grade... those two would know better'n I do."

"Remember when Boss used to bring her in?" Matsumoto thumbed a lipstick print off the rim of her glass and then set it back down on the bar for Rikichi to top off.

"Nightmare on Canal Street," Shuuhei quipped, smirking around an unlit cigarette between his lips. "Kid's too worn out after school now, huh?"

Iba pulled down his shades and gave him a long, knowing look until Shuuhei handed over another cig. Iba did have the courtesy to produce a matchbook from his pocket and light them both up, though. "It wasn't so bad. She's a good kid when she's chewin' on Ikkaku instead'a one of us."

"Yeah," Matsumoto said laughing into her glass, "then it's just hilarious."


	2. El corazon se inclina, el pie camina

_A donde el corazon se inclina, el pie camina._

_May 17, 1918._

Byakuya looks up. And up. And up.

The new man is like a mountain, or an oak tree. He wears his gear as if it were a light summer shirt and slacks, though Byakuya recalls how the straps had dug into his own shoulders, and how he'd been sore for days after the first time they'd run to the top of the old mountain by the base. This new guy didn't even seem to notice that he happened to have fifty pounds of combat gear strapped to his waist and back.

His hair is shaved in odd lines, reaching from his temples and forehead, curving around to the back of his head. Byakuya's CO claps him on the shoulder and says, "This one's from D company. He'll stick with us until his crowd catches up."

The man nods, joins the patrol. He moves quickly for his mountainous stature and with a deliberate, easy pace. Byakuya thinks that he could work with a man who has that sort of confidence- but only if it were justified.

* * *

><p>"Zaraki Kenpachi," he says, voice a low rumble that reminds Byakuya of his old Californian earthquakes. He's tall, hair too long for regulation now (not that he himself has any room to complain) but they're weeks away from any commanding officer and it's the fifth day in a row he's been stuck in a trench with this hulking giant of a man and he's only now learning his name. Zaraki shifts his sword to rest against his shoulder, its scabbard resting between his knees, his helmet slipping down over his eyes. Byakuya settles back and checks that his knife is still secure in his boot, rips open a mud-caked package from home.<p>

"Kuchiki Byakuya," he responds in kind, and inclines his head politely at the man. Hisana had sent a picture and snacks. A short letter in her light, unsure hand.

He learns later that Zaraki Kenpachi had grown up in Hawaii, moved to New York and enlisted for lack of any other jobs to do. He didn't have to, just as Byakuya didn't, and he sends his pay back to people who aren't friends, parents, children or a spouse. Byakuya doesn't know where it goes, and he doesn't ask.

Byakuya sighs and shifts so his boot isn't sitting in a dirty puddle, pulls his hair back into a high ponytail, dons his sniper's mask and hefts the rifle to his shoulders before settling down behind his blind. Zaraki looks over and takes his post as lookout.

* * *

><p>He's learned over the weeks that Zaraki Kenpachi is a man who thinks he's a samurai and still uses that old, beat-up katana he'd brought along and the combat knife he'd liberated from the last bastard who mouthed off to him like he doesn't have a revolver in the holster under his arm. Actually, Byakuya's pretty sure he's never seen the man use the gun for anything other than bludgeoning some poor bastard's skull in when he loses his grip on the sword, rare enough as it is. He can't deny that the man is efficient, though.<p>

It's when Zaraki takes down a team of five soldiers creeping up to them by himself while Byakuya's trying to take out a Gerry colonel in some backwater warzone in France that he really starts to understand that his fellow soldier isn't an ordinary kind of guy. He'd finished off four and the last was almost pissing himself in fear as he moved up to Byakuya's blind. Byakuya was tracking the colonel, could feel the bastard come up behind him, but couldn't look back. He'd heard the sound of bones cracking, then the quiet thump of a body hitting the ground just as he took his own shot.

When he crouched back behind their cover, then stood up to help Zaraki move the bodies out of the way, they had looked at each other and nodded. That manic, sharktoothed grin on Zaraki's face had faded to a more thoughtful, serious look and Byakuya doesn't know why (they've saved each other's lives more often than he cares to count- it's what happens in a warzone and neither of them were keeping track) but he says before he even has a chance to stop himself, "If you ever want a job, Zaraki, I know someone who could use a man like you."

His first response had been suspicion. Why the poor couldn't just take a well-deserved favor from those in better circumstances Byakuya's always had a hard time understanding, though if it's a matter of pride, it would all make sense to him.

When Zaraki rips open his own package from home a week later and turns up two packs of cigarettes, a letter written in crayon and one more neatly-written one from a woman named Retsu, he tosses Byakuya a pack, scans the letter again and asks him about the job.

If they make it back to the States.

* * *

><p>They do, but not without a few sacrifices. Zaraki nearly loses an eye- he recovers, mostly, but still gets headaches when it's too bright out so he fashions himself an eyepatch with a wide, sturdy band. It doesn't look much like an eyepatch at all, which Byakuya supposes he was going for.<p>

Actually, he nearly loses both eyes- his left had not come so close, though it had scarred him more visibly.

As for himself, the young Kuchiki heir has two new scars of his own, like craters, where he'd been shot in the side. Both entry and exit wounds had begun to scar over in the last few weeks, which is fine with him.

Zaraki hadn't brought up his offer since the day he had asked about it. If the man were the type to do things out of politeness, Byakuya would guess that he had left it hanging in case he had changed his mind. He decides that after so many months in the trenches with a man who had quickly come to be known as a demon, there are few hands he'd trust more in any position of power- not that he'd ever say so. On the ship back to the states, while Zaraki's turning his eyepatch in his hands, half his face covered by bandages (more to assuage the doctors than out of any real necessity), Byakuya lays a hand on his shoulder.

He feels the mass of muscle tense, then shift uncomfortably. "Whatta ya want, Kuchiki?"

Byakuya replies, "My offer still stands."

"How do you know I haven't found something better in the last week an' a half?"

"I don't," Byakuya says, and he leaves it at that. They sort of have an understanding, though, and he doesn't think that he needs to say that ever since their first meeting, the other man had done nothing but cement his decision.

Kenpachi's reply lacks the usual bite to his words- more amused banter than anything- "You better not be leavin' me to take over a piece'a junk, then."

* * *

><p>Byakuya had volunteered their main doctor- a young man with a fierce, wicked intellect and a thriving drug trade on the side. Few surgeons in the country work as efficiently, or with the same ingenious flair as Kurotsuchi Mayuri, but Zaraki had refused, saying he has his own damn place to get a physical and also to get his eye checked- it's been bothering him again.<p>

He finds out later that Zaraki Kenpachi is connected to Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni in strange and unexpected ways; Retsu from the letters- Retsu who helps to take care of little Yachiru- is Unohana Retsu, dear friend and favorite niece of the old man- the Old Man, capitals. Unohana Retsu who had seen to Byakuya when he had caught the flu at fourteen and the hospital was closed, Unohana Retsu who fixed up his hand when, in a moment of uncharacteristic blind rage, he broke his knuckles punching out the little bastard who'd tried to push him around in high school.

"Apologies for the intrusion," Byakuya says and makes to leave, but the good Dr. Unohana gives him permission to stay- it's not as if Kenpachi cares about patient confidentiality. She's brisk and professional, but kind- Zaraki doesn't need it, and he doesn't seem to notice it, but Byakuya watches her work carefully and decides that yeah, they could use someone like her, if she decides to join them.

(She doesn't, knowing full well what her uncle does with his spare time and money, but she says, also, that the Wandering Souls staff is free to call on her for help.)

* * *

><p>He's fair-minded- won't demand more than he deserves but won't take less than he's earned, and he's remarkably self-aware for a man so unfit for dealing in business. Byakuya wonders how the hell he does so well until he meets the boys Zaraki had been keeping an eye on- the ear one of them has for negotiation and the other's knack for numbers and Byakuya can see how maybe gaining three hands for the cost of one, working in practiced tandem and with brutal efficiency, might be better than he had even imagined it could be.<p>

It's a violent first year but he's a ruthless man and his hires are young gangsters- the Sun Yee-On Triad and On-Leong Tong are hopelessly intertwined- used to working from the shadows. Byakuya hadn't expected Zaraki to be connected to the Chinese criminal empire, but he's learned over the length of their acquaintance that few things should ever really surprise him about this man ever again.

He raises their pay to enough for three to live comfortably on with quite a bit to spare after the first year, talks Old Man Yamamoto into letting Zaraki take over at Wandering Souls so he can kick off a branch in Chicago the second, and by the third, they're raking in just as much cash as when Byakuya was running the place. Maybe more. The City is forgiving.

Byakuya supposes, too, that New Yorkers like his gritty straightforwardness, his unflappable calm and most of all, they're scared shitless of this ex-soldier's ability to mobilize his men. The patrons feel safe under all the layers of protection he'd set up- Chang on one side, Timoteo on the other, the police on all three of their payrolls.

* * *

><p>Zaraki Kenpachi had taken an immediate liking to Ichimaru Gin, which no one else gets because they don't trust him a far as they can throw him. It's Yumichika who points it out to Shuuhei when he asks years later; points out the way Ichimaru stands, the way he speaks, the easy conversation he has with Kenpachi. That you don't have to like something to like their style and you don't have to trust them even if you think they're useful.<p>

"Because he's fearless," Yumichika says, "but he has no intention of dying."

Byakuya supposes that Ayasegawa would recognize that better than anyone, though he'd never admit to eavesdropping.

The few times Ichimaru's around when Byakuya is, he's unfailingly polite, though quietly snide. He's one of the few men the Old Man had picked with whom the young Kuchiki heir has never felt any sort of connection, but that doesn't seem to be a concern for anyone else. He decides that he'll fulfill his own duty where he's needed, and complaints about it have no place in his life.

* * *

><p>Hisana's health had been declining since the day he'd met her but it really only worsens their sixth month in Chicago. Something in the air, he thinks, though she says it was bound to happen eventually. He wishes he could spend more time with her, wishes he could do something besides keep the servants paid and Thousand Blossoms running, wishes he could spend entire days at her bedside instead of on trains, moving between cities and negotiating with already-established organizations.<p>

He only learns later what men mean when they say they had to choose between their jobs and the loves of their lives, and Byakuya already knows his choice.

She tells him about Rukia a week before she dies. It's far too late, in his opinion, and he knows it's weighed on her for all of the two years they'd had together. He doesn't ask her why she didn't tell him earlier- she'd only say something like, _I didn't want to be even more of a burden to you_, and she's too frail for him to tell her to stop bullshitting him like that. He wouldn't have minded. He would have taken her in and treated her as he would his own little sister.

Though he wouldn't, admittedly, be very close to siblings even if he had any.

* * *

><p>Rukia's thirteen when he meets her, and she looks so much like Hisana that it makes Byakuya sick to his stomach. He finds her at the smallest orphanage in California and when he approaches her, she backs away. Hisana did, too.<p>

Her friends cluster around her and the woman who's running the place (she does the best she can but there isn't much she can do and Byakuya's never been to a place like this; he was born into money and a well-managed estate) corrals them back into the other room to give them some time alone. An older boy with a shock of bright red hair tries to duck around, nearly makes it, but his friends drag him back.

When Byakuya leaves the first time, the first to approach Rukia is the boy whose name Byakuya later learns is Renji, and he learns his name because Renji approaches him after he's signed the papers, has Rukia's packed bags in his hand and had sent her off to go to the bathroom before they left for the _last_ time.

At sixteen, he's scrawny, scarred beyond what a boy his age should be and his eyes are hard and sharp. Familiar, in a way. Byakuya already dislikes him.

He introduces himself as Abarai Renji and tells Mista' Kuchiki in no uncertain terms that if he hurts Rukia, he will hunt him down, beat his head in with a baseball bat, then feed him his own fucking fingers. Byakuya thinks that it's nice that Rukia has a friend willing to threaten complete strangers for her, and he puts in a call to Zaraki when he arrives back in Chicago with Rukia in tow.

* * *

><p>Zaraki's boys are in town a few months later. California, scoping out vineyards for the Old Man before swinging by the orphanage. Byakuya receives a call from Madarame with the sound of Iba Tetsuzaemon's voice in the background, a smug, ecstatic but painstakingly professional, "He's only a little younger than Yumichika. He fights well."<p>

Madarame waits for an affirmative before he continues, saying, "Already cleared it with Boss, but he says to tell you that we're keepin' him."

Like a pet, Byakuya muses, and he passes on the message to Rukia at dinner (an awkward, quiet, lonely affair with just the two of them) that Mr. Zaraki's decided to take Renji in all the way back in New York. She'll even be able to see him once in a while, and she eats a little more than usual, trying hard not to look as happy as he knows she feels. It's a step up from never seeing him again, though Byakuya wonders how long that'll last.

The next time Byakuya sees Renji, almost two years later, the boy's shot up about half a foot in height, filled out, muscled and tattooed. He'd outgrown the awkward stage of adolescence and begun to move with the same graceful, predatory swagger as the rest of Zaraki's men.

Rukia had smacked him upside the head just before he gave her a hug that lifted her off her feet, and she was more animated than he had ever seen her. Byakuya suggests that she study in New York, stay with Doctor Unohana. He doesn't want her to learn the ropes of the trade and he tells her to stay away from the hooch, and it would be difficult for her to adjust to a new city, but she seems to fit in fine with the Wandering Souls staff.

Byakuya goes back to Chicago.

* * *

><p>Renji starts working for Byakuya, moving between Illinois and New York, staying in neither for more than a few months at a time. He's conscientious, driven and ambitious. Byakuya likes that, but he can't shake the feeling that Renji's learning the business far faster than the average man would. Byakuya couldn't ask for a better employee, though, and Renji answers to him immediately and without question.<p>

Zaraki Kenpachi is the sort of boss who selects for loyalty first, so he doesn't worry about a potential coup. Renji is more by-the-books than any criminal has the right to be, and he's survived New York like a cockroach, or a rat. Not only lived but thrived.

Byakuya avoids the city lately- Wandering Souls had become less and less his haunt over time, though it still welcomes him warmly. The men aren't his and the patrons aren't familiar anymore, and the old guard only shows their faces every once in a while. He has his own connections to build, his own empire to expand; Thousand Blossoms saps his time and attention like nothing else.

He has his own town, now.


	3. El mundo se va a acabar

_A beber y a tragar, que el mundo se va a acabar._

_July 16, 1927._

Ichigo slouched low into his chair, behind his desk, and idly massaged his temples while the math professor droned on. His shirt was already damp with sweat and sticking to his back and the seat, even though a window was wide open. The day was muggy, humid and stifling, and if he weren't so intent on taking classes in the summer, he wouldn't even have showed up. Tatsuki kicked him lightly on the back of his seat and he turned around to look at her when the professor moved to write something on the board.

"You okay, Ichigo?" Tatsuki smirked, then mimed taking a drink. "Not hung over, are you? Even Asano's okay, I saw him this morning."

"You should talk," he hissed back. "You didn't even drink. And Keigo sneaks his dad's whiskey out of the cabinet."

Besides, his headache had faded to a dull throb and he wasn't even as nauseous as he was when he woke up to throw up at four in the morning.

"You actually looked okay for most of the way back."

"Mizuiro brought over another bottle of... I think it was wine, when we got back to the dorm."

Tatsuki raised an eyebrow, then gestured that the professor was done writing and settled back down into her seat. "Oh, wow. Did you even wake up for your morning classes?"

Ichigo shook his head, smirking, then muttered, "Yeah, barely," as he turned back around. He uncapped his pen, then ripped out a small piece of his notebook before messily scrawling a note. _your birthday's tomorrow, right? want to go back to WS?_ He folded it over twice, faked a yawn and dropped the note onto Tatsuki's desk when he stretched his arms back. He heard her unfold it, jot down a reply, and caught the message as it sailed back over his shoulder.

_Well, it __is__ my turn to get blitzed._

Ichigo nodded so that she could see, then crumpled up the note and stuffed it into his pocket. Keigo would want to go back, too. Tatsuki fought almost constantly with Chizuru, but they were friends, sort of. He turned around a little and whispered, "Invite everyone," before going back to taking notes.

Orihime was the one to bring up that it was nearly Tatsuki's birthday earlier that day, though he had known for a few weeks already. Keigo had agreed immediately, decided not to bring up his sister (she had more fun going out with her own friends, really), and Mizuiro told them that he'd meet them there; he had a date. Chizuru agreed to go along at Orihime's invite. Mostly because Orihime was going and not really because it was Tatsuki's birthday or anything, though she did buy her a new set of handwraps.

* * *

><p>"The thing is," Rukia said, leaning forward, elbow on her knees, "if you said you would call, then you should probably have called. Or at least, you know, sent a telegram."<p>

Renji let his face drop into his hands and massaged his eyes. "I said I _might_. I think."

"Well maybe you should have, um." Renji knew her well enough to know she was smiling innocently, but Rukia's tone very clearly implied that he was being a dumbass. And she was having immense amounts of fun at his expense. "Thanked her for the good time, you know?"

"Oh my _god_. I was so drunk, Rukia, I didn't even remember her name 'til she walked in an' tried ta make me get her another free drink."

Kira shook his head and leaned back into the couch. "Where did you meet her, again?"

"That's the thing, I don't _remember_."

Rukia flashed him a wicked, knowing smile. "Renji, your tolerance is awful. Haven't I already told you not to drink so much without adult supervision?"

"It wasn't that much! I didn't even black out, and I swear to god I didn't know this woman."

Kira chipped in, "Could you have met her the _last_ time you blacked out? I'm sure that's possible, considering the frquency at which you drink yourself to senselessness."

"No, but the weird thing is, I know her name but I don't remember where I met her and I can't just ask _now_. If I met her while I was blitzed, I wouldn't remember her name, right?"

"I suppose it's a step up from knowing where you met her and not knowing her name," Rukia said while she leaned back with her arms crossed over her chest and put her feet up on the table. "Not a very big step, though."

Renji's glare looked more like a helpless plea for mercy than any true glare, and Rukia couldn't keep mocking him without feeling like she was kicking a dog that was already down for much longer. She relaxed into the couch and patted him sympathetically on the arm, then the shoulder when he let his head drop into her lap. "Rukia," he sighed dejectedly, "what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Explain the situation?"

"But she'd hate me!"

"So?"

"Have you _seen_ her legs?"

Rukia deadpanned, "Oh, right. How could I ever forget about the gams on _that_ one. I suppose you'll just have to keep supplying her with drinks until she's too drunk to remember you asking her where exactly you met her."

"Do you think that's a-"

"No, Renji. I was being sarcastic."

Kira made a sympathetic sound and flashed Renji an understanding look. Or at least, it sounded sympathetic to him; Rukia thought it sounded more like a choked-back laugh than anything else and he had painfully schooled his expression into one that didn't look so much as if he was enjoying himself. He coughed politely into a pale fist, then leaned over the small table to glance at the book she had open on the table and read the first two or three paragraphs. "You're taking a chemistry class?"

"It seemed like fun. Harder than it looks, though." Rukia absently flipped through a few pages, then ran her fingers along the edge of the cover. "I'm not taking any summer courses and Brother said I should probably get started on studying before fall classes actually begin, so I am."

A door slammed open, startling all three of them. Iba had a heavy, uneven stride but he seemed at home. But despite the limp (or maybe because of it), he looked no less threatening than any of the other men who worked at Wandering Souls. He pushed his sunglasses up his forehead, then gestured, as if he were tipping an invisible hat. "Well if it ain't Kuchiki Rukia. How's kicks? School goin' alright?"

She nodded politely, then smiled. "Mr. Iba. Everything's fine. I'm not taking summer courses, but my grades have all been decently high."

"Your brother?"

"Taking care of business in Chicago."

Iba nodded absently to acknowledge Renji, who had sat up abruptly, and Kira, then reached into his back pocket for a smoke. "Chi-town ain't bad this time of year. And boss?"

"Jersey," Renji piped up. "There's a shipment today, he wants you to bring the truck around to the Jersey side of that tunnel they just finished building. Faster than havin' to ship it across the river, y'know? Suppliers won't move out of state and it won't all fit in our truck."

"Couldn't just drop it off at Fulton," he muttered. Iba asked around the unlit cigarette in his mouth, "When's that shipment from South America coming in?"

"Few weeks, dependin' on the weather. Hisagi and Kira are gettin' that one."

"Got it. He give a time for the pickup?"

Renji draped his hand over his eyes, leaning back so his shoulders braced against the top of the couch. "'Bout one, but you should probably show up at half past midnight. You know how Yumichika gets. I'd go with ya, but you need room in the truck."

"Wouldn't want to put up with your blabbin', anyway."

Renji flipped him off, then grinned at Iba's smirk. "Where you goin' now?"

"To get lunch."

"Grab me somethin'?"

"Get it yourself."

Rukia elbowed Renji hard in the side, flashing Iba a michievous smile. "Mr. Iba's going through all the trouble of picking up that shipment, and you want to give him even more work? For shame, Renji."

"Yeah, Renji," Iba jeered, "for _shame._"

Kira smiled mildly and stood up, patting down the leg of his pants to make sure they were still straight. "I'll head in with Mr. Iba and bring something out for all of us, then."

"Aw, you don't hafta do that. Redhead don't deserve it."

"Hey!" Renji scowled, then nodded in Kira's direction. "Really 'ppreciate it, Kira."

* * *

><p>Nemu leaned back against the wall from her spot on the bench, ledger open over her knees. Nanao pushed her glasses up her nose and turned back to her customer. Well, sort-of customer. More like close-friend-and-business-partner-to-Wandering-Souls-management and therefore a very esteemed customer and therefore unbootable, no matter how much she might want to evict him from the premesis. "Welcome back, sir. And how is Mr. Ukitake?"<p>

"He's getting by."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Shunsui leaned on the counter, idly ran his hand over the stubble on his chin and grinned at her. "Nanao-chan! And is that Miss Nemu back th- it's been a _while_ since I've seen you lovely ladies. I would love to stay and chat, but I do have some business to attend to. Where's Kenpachi?"

"He is out of state at the present time."

"The boys?"

Nanao opened her mouth, then closed it, eyebrows furrowing. She turned around slightly to look at Nemu, who answered, "Accompanying him."

"Damn. Well, I've got a note to pass on to him from the old man himself. Normally I'd hand it off personally, but I trust that the two of you will get it to him unmolested." Shunsui frowned, then tugged on the hem of his deep gray vest to straighten it out a bit. He reached into his pocket, extracted an envelope that had been folded in half, and then slid it across the counter. "And I know that faith is not misplaced."

Nanao nodded, deftly removed the letter and handed it back to Nemu, who tucked it carefully under the cover of the ledger. "Of course. Is there anything else I might help you with today?"

"That's all. Thanks, and have a lovely day."

Nemu flashed him a small smile (warmly returned), and when Nanao's head tilted just slightly back so the sunlight from outside glinted threateningly off her glasses, Shunsui shouldered the door open with a tip of his hat.

A knock from under Nanao's feet prompted her to look down and move aside, bending down to hook a finger into the ring attached to the trap door of the floor and tug it up. "Mr. Iba."

"Kira's right behind me," he said, jumping to hook his fingers on the edge of the trapdoor, then hauling himself up. "Got anything to eat up here?"

"Of course. What would you like?"

* * *

><p>Ikkaku took a long drag on his cigarette, already nearly burned down to the filter, and glanced over his shoulder at where Boss was negotiating with the ship's captain. They didn't need his entire stock of alcohol- Wandering Souls was busy, but expensive and upscale. One of those few speakeasies that never watered down its inventory, and its patrons were moderate drinkers. Anyone who drank too much to walk straight would usually be kicked out before they could make any trouble. Their voices were low so neither he now Yumichika could hear the conversation, but that wasn't really his concern.<p>

He cracked his neck, closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of tobacco and ocean, idly toeing off his shoes. He could've fallen asleep, but the seat was uncomfortable, and they were outside. Straining his ears to try and make out words from the rumble of conversation inside the cafe, Ikkaku eventually gave up when the sound of uproarious laughter from the table closest to the door drowned out any other sound.

"I think," Yumichika said abruptly, snapping Ikkaku out of his daze, "we should visit Atlantic City more often. The sunset from the beach is impressive."

"Unless sand gets in your shoes," he muttered back, tone both exasperated and warm. Ikkaku did crack open an eye to glance at the shore, though, gaze flicking along the sand and down the boardwalk. Not looking for anything in particular, but scanning the area for anything suspicious.

"The sunset from the boardwalk just removed from the beach is quite impressive," Yumichika amended with a wry smile. He checked his watch, then leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

"Heh." Ikkaku grinned, crossed an ankle over the opposite knee and flicked some ash off the end of his cig before putting it out. "We're always down here anyway."

"But we never have time to just relax anymore. It's always for work."

"Yeah?"

Yumichika declared, "I don't like it!"

"Work? 'Cause I gotta say, bein' in Aizen's territory makes me pretty fucking nervous too."

"No, I like that. It's sort of fun. Not doing anything _but_ work is so tiring."

Ikkaku nudged his ankle under the table, then bent down to undo the laces on his two-tone shoes and put them back on. "We'll go somewhere next time we got a couple days off, then. Coney Island's beach ain't bad. Amusement park, too."

"What are we, ten?"

"What's wrong with amusement parks?"

"How much amusement do you really need?"

Picking his hat off the tabletop and dropping it back onto his head, Ikkaku drawled, "More than what I get, you jaded, cynical bastard."

"Why hello there Mister Kettle, it's been far too long." Yumichika bit off the rest of what he was going to say, flashed Ikkaku a sharp smile, then looked over his shoulder to nod at a signal from Kenpachi. They stood up simultaneously, falling into step behind the taller man as he passed, conversation forgotten.

* * *

><p>Tatsuki flicked a folded-up piece of paper onto Ichigo's desk, then leaned back against his bed with his pillow clutched to her chest. He idly unfolded the slip, checked the address on it and then pushed it to the side to continue studying. "It's the place?"<p>

"Yep. Mizuho can't come and Mizuiro's gonna be late, so I got the address from 'em." She added a few seconds later, "We lost both our Mizus. And is it just me or are all the cats who work at WS really cute? I'm not imagining it, right?"

"Wouldn't know. Ms. Rangiku, though-" Ichigo yawned, turned the page, then dipped his pen and jotted something down. "Now tell me whether or not you're actually going to study?"

"I already did this afternoon." Tatsuki let a brief silence pass, then, "Seriously though. I'd talk to Orihime but she's studying and Chizuru's..."

"Don't know why you bother to tell me." He glanced at her and retorted, "So tell me why you're here. Right now. Interrupting my studying."

"Got bored."

"So go bother Inoue."

"She's _studying_."

"So am I!"

Tatsuki retorted defensively, "Well I haven't had a chance to bother you since you stopped coming to practice. I only ever see you on your birthday and in class now."

"Well I'm gonna see you tomorrow too. You want to sleep over, that's fine but just let me study." Ichigo idly blotted his pen and then grinned at her. "I'll probably be up all night anyway."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." She leaned across the table, then tugged the textbook off the desk to rest in front of her. Ichigo turned his seat, notebook open in his lap, then made a face at Tatsuki when she prompted him to shut it. "C'mon, we'll do it like this. Give me the first ten elements in the periodic table."

"Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Flourine, Neon." Ichigo paused, counted them off on his fingers and then glanced at Tatsuki. "That's ten, right?"

"Yep. Tell me everything you know about Hydrogen through Boron. I want atomic number, properties- whatever you remember." Tatsuki stretched her legs out in front of her, dropping onto her back and holding his notebook over her face. "Hope you memorized these bullet points."

Ichigo groaned and dragged his hands down his face.

* * *

><p>Yumichika leaned against the truck, backs of his thighs braced against the bumper, and ticked something off in a little notepad. He slowly breathed in the smell of the ocean, brushed his hair behind an ear and then looked over at the stack of crates Ikkaku stood in front of. "Twelve cases of gin."<p>

Ikkaku shook his head and lit up a cigarette. He looked over his shoulder at Yumichika, then waved idly at the crates, putting out his match at the same time before flicking it off the dock into the water. "Fourteen."

"It's supposed to be twelve."

"We got fourteen 'cause they're one crate'a whiskey short."

"Price?"

"Same."

"Fair enough, I guess. Boss knows?"

Ikkaku clenched the cigarette between his teeth, then worked his fingers under first crate, grunting as he hefted it up, letting all its weight settle against his chest while he moved it into the back of the truck. "Yeah. He negotiated it."

"Then it looks like we're done for the day. This would probably last us a few weeks to tide us over until the South American shipment. He's paying right now?"

"Yeah." Ikkaku let the bottom of the crate settle into the truck, pushed it in a little, and then turned to grab another one. Yumichika put his shoulder to the box, shoved it farther inside and then jumped into the back to drag it in and make some room. By the time they finished, Ikkaku was slowly moving his arm in a wide circle, bones of his shoulder cracking as it turned in its socket. "You're driving, Yumichika."

"Just don't fall asleep."

"I know you'll miss my company too much," Ikkaku said, smirking back.

"Well you know how your chatter keeps me awake on long drives."

"_My_ chatter?"

They exchanged grins, and Ikkaku fished the keys out of his pocket to toss to Yumichika. The hulking silhouette and heavy steps of the man strolling back up the pier raised a hand and gestured for them to get moving.

It was dark, so the truck went slowly. Yumichika knew Atlantic City's backroads well enough not to need guidance, but they followed the car in front anyway. Ikkaku slouched low in his seat, eyes fixed on the vehicle ahead and the hulking shadow of their boss in it.

Zaraki Kenpachi was a man who conducted business with the same brutal efficiency he did everything else. His reputation followed him wherever they went, and after seeing what had happened to the first poor bastard who tried to cheat him, no one else had ever attempted the same. He might not have been properly schooled, but Zaraki was about as far from stupid or uneducated as anyone could get.

Ikkaku wasn't unerringly, blindly obedient. Had never been, could never be, and their Boss had given them the chance to break off, but they had stayed. Yumcihika had considered it himself, early on, but Ikkaku's ambitious streak had died when he nearly did, and he wasn't about to go off on his own.

Yumichika glanced over to the passenger's seat, reached across and tugged lightly on Ikkaku's sleeve. "I know you're tired," he said, choosing to be selfish because he knew Ikkaku wouldn't mind, "but you're still not allowed to sleep."

"Not asleep."

Yumichika frowned. Ikkaku had always been the more talkative of the two of them around other people- he liked the attention, mostly, and it was easier to pump someone for information when you pretended an interrogation was a conversation. He'd never seen the need for that around Yumichika, so it was up to the younger man to fill in their silences. "Do you think Tetsu-san got the message?"

"Well I told Renji to pass it on, so he should've." Ikkaku let a mild smirk show, then leaned halfway out the window with his cheek against the palm of his hand. "So if he ain't there, he's either dead or Redhead's about to get the beating of his life."

Yumichika was silent again, but when they pulled off the road, drove a short way into a cluster of trees and stopped in a clearing where Iba was waiting, he said, "Looks like you won't have to worry about that."

Ikkaku stepped out of the truck, shutting the door behind him to join Kenpachi, who had a briefcase that Iba had brought in hand. Yumichika moved to the other car, popped open the back door to lift the last two cases of gin out. He passed one to Ikkaku, then took the lighter one for himself. "Tetsu-san~"

"Yo, Yumichika. Ikkaku."

Yumichika deftly avoided Iba when he tried to take the box off his hands, but motioned for him to pop the trunk open. He practically chirped, "How was your trip? Not too boring, I hope."

When they finished moving the cases, Yumichika wiped his hands on his slacks, then hooked his thumbs into his pockets, bumping Iba lightly on the shoulder.

Ikkaku nodded in his direction, silently seconding the question, then brought a cigarette up to his lips.

"Wasn't too bad. Didn't wait long, either." Iba handed Ikkaku a matchbook. "Negotiations go alright?"

"Pretty sure they did," Ikkaku replied, taking a long drag and blowing smoke rings while they waited for Kenpachi to hand over the briefcase and wrap up negotiations. "Boss doesn't look too worked up or nothin', but they made us wait outside."

Yumichika nodded, then idly leaned back against the car again, swiping his hand in front of the headlight to watch the shadows of his fingers on the ground. "How's your leg, Tetsu-san?"

"It's fine. It's been fine. Route's clear on the way back, too." Iba leaned back against the car's hood, arms crossed over his chest, foot braced against a tire, and then tilted his head in the direction of the main road. "We're lucky, it'll stay that way."

Ikkaku flashed him an annoyed look, ground his cigarette out on the trunk of a tree, then rapped his knuckles against it. "The hell d'you go and say that for?"

"Just 'cause I say it doesn't mean it's suddenly gonna make it not true, idiot."

"Well yeah, but you don't know that," Ikkaku retorted, ignoring Yumichika's skeptical expression. "It's bad luck, anyway."

Yumichika shook his head, elbowed his friend in the side, leaned against him and smiled. "And here I thought we make our own luck."

"Some cosmic help never hurts. Thought you'd know better than to tempt fate."

"Oh, I do. It just seems silly when you assume someone else tempting fate is going to affect you, is all."

"How many times do I hafta-"

"Hey, Yumichika," Iba said abruptly, interrupting the argument before they could settle into their old routine, as if remembering something, "mind if I speak to Ikkaku alone for a second?"

"I think Boss needs my help anyway," Yumichika replied, gracefully bowing out of the conversation. Zaraki Kenpachi never _needed_ anyone's help, and from the looks of it, he had the conversation handled. Iba wasn't about to call attention to that, though. Telling Yumichika to find a better excuse next time was asking for pain and at least some sort of vengeance.

Ikkaku yawned, ground the heels of his palms into his eyes for a second, shook his head to clear it and then nodded at Iba. "What is it?"

"Kurotsuchi. Came in without makeup this morning, she's got a shiner under her left eye." When Ikkaku opened his mouth, Iba held up a hand to stop him. He didn't miss how the younger man's eyes narrowed and his lip curled into a lopsided snarl, though. "Wouldn't talk to me when I asked her about it. You already know what I think."

"I'll corner her later. When's she get off tonight?"

"Not 'til we get back. Should Boss know?"

"Nah. This is small stuff. It gets serious, he'll find out anyway." Ikkaku took one last drag on his cigarette, then dropped it to the ground and snuffed it out with the heel of his shoe. "But knowin' them, there probably isn't much I can do, either."

* * *

><p>Kenpachi sighed- a slow, deep rumble from the center of his chest- and the old captain's go-between, who had introduced himself as Smith, who he had finally settled on a price with, took a hurried step back. Kenpachi regarded him impassively, quirked one thin eyebrow and fished a wad of cash out of his back pocket. "Next shipment in three months."<p>

"We can negotiate it now."

Just as he turned his head to call for Yumichika, the smaller man brushed past him and extended his hand to Smith. "We can, and I expect that next time, you'll have our order exactly how we asked for it."

Kenpachi didn't miss the glint in Yumichika's eye, or the predatory way he smirked. Zaraki Kenpachi had never been the sort of man who enjoyed bargaining, so he stepped back to let him work his magic. Besides, that was one of the many reasons he had kept Yumichika around. Ikkaku was the backup muscle and numbers guy (almost never necessary, but convenient) and Yumichika handled the small-talk and negotiations. Most of it was scoring them a better deal than Kenpachi would have bothered pushing for otherwise.

"We did compensate you," Smith said, immediately defensive.

"Compensation doesn't mean much when you fail to deliver on a promise."

Kenpachi knew that if he were on the other side, Yumichika would have nothing to complain about. Probably would've pressed for a loyalty discount instead of mercilessly homing in on every little fall and misstep, instead. He was grateful, not for the first time, that Ikkaku hadn't been enough of a bastard early on to make Yumichika end up working for some other criminal with too much time on his hands.

The ride back to New York thrummed with Yumichika's smug satisfaction over a job well done.

* * *

><p>Kenpachi felt himself relax as he stepped into Wandering Souls' main lounge. Lights dimmed because it was just about three in the morning and most of the patrons had either already left or were in the process of shuffling out. He heard a delighted <em>Ken-chan!<em> from a couch, eyebrow quirking as Yachiru launched herself over the edge of it and sprinted to him for a quick hug before he set her back down. "Ken-chan! _Tadaima!_"

"English, brat." Ikkaku dodged a sharp kick from her, handed over the box he'd been moving from the car to Renji, and then extended a hand for her to grab before swinging her up onto his shoulders. "You ought'a speak it."

"I _do_ speak it, Cueball."

"You ain't tired, ya little monster?"

"Nuh-uh," she chirped, patting him lightly on the side of his head, "I napped all afternoon."

"Well, we're done for the day too, so you're gonna hafta go back to sleep soon anyway."

"Don' wanna."

"You got school tomorrow."

Yachiru rested her cheek against the top of Ikkaku's head, immediately conjuring images in his mind of when she was still little enough to get away with chewing on it. Ikkaku threw a wide-eyed, pleading look in Kenpachi's direction.

For once, he decided to take pity on his subordinate and lifted Yachiru off Ikkaku's shoulders as easily as if she were a cat or a doll, tucking her under his arm while she cheerfully squirmed in his grasp. "We're goin' upstairs."

"G'night everyone!"

Ikkaku covered his mouth with his arm, then yawned into his elbow before dragging Hisagi and Kira aside, instructing them to help Renji bring in their new shipment. Matsumoto pressed a drink into his hand and Rukia, from her perch on a couch's armrest, raised a hand in greeting.

"Well if it ain't Kuchiki Rukia," he said, face breaking into a wide grin. "Where's your brother?"

She beamed back. "Chicago. It's a pleasure seeing you again, too."

"Waitin' on Renji?"

"Yes."

He finished the drink, then set it down on the table. "Almost done here. You seen Kurotsuchi?"

"She's in the office. Miss Ise left a little earlier." Rukia scowled when Ikkaku's hand dropped onto her head and he ruffled her hair, but it quickly turned into a grudging smile. "Anything I can do to help, let me know," she added.

"Thanks, kid."

"No problem."

Ikkaku caught Nemu by the door into the office, first by her elbow, and then he stepped in front of her to block off her path. "Hey, Kurotsuchi."

"Madarame," she replied, then fished the envelope she had received that afternoon from the bag slung over her shoulder. "I have a letter from the commander."

"I'll get it to Boss tomorrow," Ikkaku said, taking it, tucking it into a pocket inside his vest and then regarding her face for a few long seconds. When Nemu finally realized what he was looking for, she moved to duck around him, stopping in her tracks when his grip tightened painfully on her arm.

She put up some token resistance when he grabbed her chin and forced it up to get a closer look at a livid bruise under her eye. Nemu thought she had covered it pretty well, but supposed that after so many hours and in a certain light, it showed through. Her father was usually more careful, but even when he wasn't, most of the crew still knew better than to interfere. Iba probably hadn't been too subtle about it, either, if his stubborn look from across the room meant anything at all.

Ikkaku's fingers on her jaw stung, but Nemu didn't flinch. He ran a thumb over the ridge of her cheekbone, smudging makeup away while his expression grew darker. Voice a low, dangerous murmur, he asked, "What's this?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"It really is, Ikkaku," she replied impassively, but he didn't miss the silent plea in her tone. He didn't miss the way she had switched to his first name, either.

"Nothin' like, I-hit-myself-inna-face-with-a-baseball-bat or nothin' like my-old-man's-just-got-nothin'-better-to-do-sometimes?"

Nemu stiffened, then pulled his hand away from her face and absently covered the bruise with her palm, though she couldn't completely suppress a small smile. Of course he'd consider accidentally beaning himself in the face with a bat to be nothing. In her practiced, calm voice, she rattled back, "I failed to complete a task my father assigned to me in an adequate manner, so I was punished."

There were a few long seconds of silence on both their parts before Ikkaku's expression softened and he tiredly dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "God fucking _damnit_, Kurotsuchi."

"My apologies."

"Look- don't. Go get some ice on that."

She knew he couldn't do anything about her father- Kurotsuchi Mayuri was way out of Ikkaku's league in terms of connections, seniority, _power_. She could appreciate the sentiment, though. If it were nearly anyone else in all of New York, he would've had them down on their knees begging for her forgiveness, if she or Iba hadn't gotten to them first. "Ice is really only effective in the first few hours afterwards, and only for numbing pain. I have, already."

"You should stay here. In this joint. He doesn't come around a whole lot, just say I'm givin' you a lotta work or somethin'. Hell, I'll tell Boss I need ya around."

Iba stood just within earshot, and exchanged a quick look with Ikkaku. Nemu shook her head and squeezed his upper arm. "I'm _fine_."

"The hell you are, Kurotsuchi. Don't let it happen again, or I'll do somethin' about it. Or Boss will."

Nemu sighed quietly, decided she needed to be a bit more careful next time and pulled away, nodding.

"Iba's gonna give you a lift back to your place once we got everything unloaded," he said, normally calm expression edging right into frazzled territory. "Meantime, finish up inventory with Yumichika."


	4. Mala hierba nunca muere

_Mala hierba nunca muere._

_October 29, 1917._

Starving to death is such a familiar sensation by now that Rangiku ignores the hollow pain in the pit of her stomach, wraps her arms more tightly over her knees and squeezes her eyes closed. She's been hungry before- actually, she wavers between hungry and slightly-less-hungry on a pretty regular basis- but it's been days since her last bite of anything, and even after resorting to picking through trash, she'd turned up just about nothing in the way of edible sustenance.

Rangiku doesn't expect to feel a warm, bony body settle down next to her on the stoop of the porch she'd chosen to slowly waste away on, but she raises her eyes and meets a sharp, thin gaze on a boy just barely older than her. He's got something wrinkly and colorful and dried clenched between his teeth and she regards the piece that he breaks off and offers to her with suspicion.

Her hunger wins out over her better sense, though, and Rangiku takes it. It's sweet, but not unbearably so, and good, because she hasn't eaten in days and this one doesn't smell like something she had picked out of the trash.

"Where you stayin'?" the boy asks, and Rangiku manages a shrug and a noncommittal sound around the small mouthful of what she realizes belatedly is dried persimmon. "'Cause I got more food stashed at my place, an' you don't look dangerous, so I wouldn't mind sharin'."

His place turns out to be an old toolshed behind one of the new tenements. No one goes near, and no one really cares that some kid's stashing his goods and sleeping there, so Rangiku makes herself at home. His name is Gin, and Gin says that when a boy asks for food, the chances of him getting any isn't as high as when a pretty girl asks for it. But don't, he adds, follow any strangers and if one of those fellas starts getting a little too friendly, you should run- but not back to the shed.

He'll be watching over her, anyway.

* * *

><p>He's old enough to get a job so he does. She is, too, but he tells her not to, and that he'd figure something out for her. Rangiku sort of appreciates it but it's frustrating, at the same time, to not do these things for herself, though he gives her whatever's left after they buy food. She doesn't indulge very often, and she usually steals whatever trinkets she really can't (won't) do without.<p>

She's also developed a taste for persimmons, but she never steals from the lady at the shop because the lady always weighs out extra- more than Rangiku can hide in her shirt. She splits the loot evenly with Gin, and sometimes he takes the stuff she's gotten tired of to sell off wherever he's doing his business.

If it goes sour, he doesn't tell her- just comes back bruised and bloody once in a while. By now, the tenants are used to them and Gin never leads whoever's after him back. She demands, later, that he take her with him, to do whatever she can because he forgets that she'd grown up on the same streets he had, starved in the same alleys, run from the same angry shopkeepers and pickpocketed the same rich bastards who stroll so carelessly through their neighborhood.

They work well together.

She hasn't been hungry for a while; they're safe; it's warm enough in the winter if they plug up all the cracks and huddle under their two old, worn-out blankets. He's saving up for something, but Rangiku doesn't quite know what; she doesn't ask, though.

She's sixteen and it's Christmas; the roof's creaking under the combined weight of icy snow and howling wind and the only warmth they can leech is from each other. There's no light, but she knows where Gin is- sitting with his knees on either side of her, chest to her back, chin resting comfortably in the crook of her neck. He's pulled one blanket over his shoulders, the other one's laid over Rangiku's lap and she decides then that she could stay with him. For however long until their next caper goes wrong and they both end up tossed into the East River, or maybe until the day they become rich.

She turns her head, puts one hand on his cheek and, very naturally, pulls him in for a kiss.

* * *

><p>Gin takes her by the wrist, then drags her down the alley, along a path he evidently knows pretty well. When they reach the door of a run-down little place, what looks like the apartment attached to back of a store, Gin raps twice on the door, then pulls her into the shadows until it opens. A pause, and then another older boy, though he looks a little younger than Gin, steps out. "Yo, Ichimaru."<p>

"Anyone stayin' with you fellas for the next couple days? How's Yachiru doin'?"

He scratches the back of his head. "Nah. She's stayin' with Doc Unohana for the next two weeks since me'n Yumichika both started workin' and he wants his room back 'til we work out th- what do you need?"

"Mind keepin' an eye on a friend of mine? Her name's Rangiku." Gin nods decisively, and then gestures towards her. "Matsumoto Rangiku. This's Madarame Ikkaku."

"'S a pleasure, Rangiku." The other boy glances around, eyes her, and then steps outside completely, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, clenched around a knife. Rangiku can just barely see the outline of his knuckles through the material of his trousers, and she knows enough about the neighborhood that as safe as it is during the day, the gang fights that break out in the night can and frequently do involve bystanders. "Owe you one anyway, right? C'mon in."

Rangiku feels a hand on the small of her back- Gin's- then one on her shoulder. The light inside switches on and she sees another boy pull the curtains so no one outside could peek in and Ikkaku shuts the door behind her, staying outside to speak with Gin. She might have mistaken this one for a very pretty girl, if he weren't so lean and even then she's not sure until he speaks.

"I'm Yumichika," the other boy says in a quiet, aloof sort of tone. He looks just around her age- so she immediately feels more at ease. "Rangiku, right?"

"Right." She glances around, but only sees two bedrooms. Yumichika steps into the doorway of one, then motions for her to follow before she can start thinking about how to make herself comfortable on the couch.

"If you're staying, you can take my bed."

"Oh, I-" Rangiku decides she _really_ wouldn't rather take the couch if it's not too much trouble, so she just nods gratefully, Yumichika's sudden cheerful smile washing away much of her apprehension. "Thanks, Yumichika."

The door opens again and she looks up, expecting to see Gin but Ikkaku just looks at her, slight frown curving up into a nervous, boyish smile. "Ichimaru says he's gonna be gone a while. Ain't much, but make yourself at home, alright?"

* * *

><p>"See this?" His hand swings close to her face and Rangiku moves back on instinct, dodging the touch and the invasion of her space. Ikkaku nods, as if that had proved his point, and then steps forward, tugging her back by her arm before she can put some more distance between them. "This is a fight. We're fighting."<p>

Rangiku gives him a look that says, _Alright, now can you shut up with your inscrutable Chinese spiritual babbling and actually teach me to fight_, and the older boy frowns. "Look, you can't be afraid to get into someone's space. Everyone's got a distance they keep between them an' other people- you get into that space, you've already got the upper hand."

"I know philosophy is important to you triad fellas, but I don't need to learn how to start a fight, Ikkaku." She flips a long strand of hair over her shoulder, tossing her head so that her neck stretches in that way most boys can't take their eyes off of and then crosses her arms over her chest. "I just need to know how to end them."

"That's what I'm tryin' to _show_ you, c'mon. Run into some punk on the street, this is how you stop a fight before it even starts." Ikkaku adds before stepping back again, "'S all about boundaries." He relaxes, shoulders losing their tension, muscles of his chest and arms- which Rangiku hadn't even noticed had been flexed the whole time- loosening. "Me, my threshold is right there. A guy gets within two feet of me in any direction, he's already started a fight.

"So," he continues, "when a guy isn't out to get you specifically- he bumped you on the street or he thinks you're trying to put him down- you think, as soon as that fat fuck crosses_ this_ line, I'm gonna break his fucking nose and make him choke on his own teeth."

Rangiku looks at him skeptically, but Ikkaku smirks, then gestures for her to come closer. She takes one step, another, eyes on Ikkaku the whole time. One more, and the air of the apartment seems to grow heavy, apprehension and fear shivering up her spine. Just as abruptly, it's gone and Ikkaku leans back against the table. "You feel that?"

"Are you gonna tell me it's spirit or some bullshit like that?"

"Nah." He pokes himself in the temple, then grins. "It's all about the impression you give off. Mine just said-"

"I'm gonna break your fucking nose and make you choke on your own teeth, right?"

"You got it. Philosophy class over. 'Spirit' is something you've gotta train on your own time." Ikkaku scuffs his bare feet on the floor, cinches the waist on his grey sweatpants and then motions for her to take a stance. "Keep your feet apart, but not too wide, make sure you're relaxed."

"Somehow I think it would be a little hard to relax in a fight, Ikkaku."

"It's easy," he says, taking her by the wrists and positioning her hands in front of her. "What I'm gonna do is grab you, and then I'm gonna show you how to throw me off, alright?"

Rangiku sighs, brushes her hair back into a tight ponytail and waits for Ikkaku to strip out of his shirt. "Did Gin ask you to do this?"

Ikkaku scratches a faint scar on his belly, cracks his knuckles and then drops fluidly into a crouch, stretching one leg out to the side, and then the other. "Do what?"

"Teach me how to fight."

"Ah, yeah. He ain't bad himself, I don't know why he asked me." Standing up, he mirrors the position he had shown her earlier.

As soon as she signals that she's ready, Ikkaku darts forward. On reflex and her five years experience of getting into scrapes, Rangiku's fist whips forward, one arm protecting her face and the other aiming for his, but he sidesteps easily, twists under her guard and then he's behind her, one arm around her neck and the other pinning both arms behind her back, dragging her up braced against his chest so her toes barely brush the ground, both legs positioned to keep hers from kicking.

Rangiku thinks to herself that his training has been ridiculously thorough, and she knows exactly why Gin had asked him to teach her instead of doing the honors himself- he isn't_ tall_ enough to do anything like this, and she knows that most of the men she'll meet will be more like Ikkaku, now that she's getting herself involved in Gin's business.

"See how you've got one hand under my arm?" Rangiku wiggles her hand a bit because she can't reply at the moment, thinking to herself that the next time he tries this, he'll be sorry. Ikkaku mutters right into her ear, "Just grab the skin there as hard as you can and pinch."

He drops her before she can comply, and when she whirls on him, he flashes her a sheepish grin and raises both hands, palms-out to placate her. "I'd let you try, but it hurts. Sometimes you gotta fight dirty."

"Where did you learn to do all that?"

"The grab we all learn," he says, and Rangiku doesn't miss the quirk of his eyebrow that tells her not to ask who exactly 'we all' are, "gettin' out of it is somethin' I learned from someone else."

"The next time you give me a vague answer like that, I'm not gonna forgive you, Cueball."

"Don't ask, then!"

She sniffs, turns her nose up and prepares to walk away, but then Ikkaku's hands wrap tightly around her waist, pinning her arms to her side and dragging her back against his chest. "This is the other things guys're gonna do to someone like you," he says, and she's not sure if his lips are just accidentally on her ear or not but it's giving her goosebumps and he needs to stop it real soon or else she'll make him regret it.

"So what do I do?"

"Where're your hands?"

She lightly squeezes his thigh, takes a moment to admire all the hard muscle under the thin layer of clothing before it occurs to her. Rangiku cheerfully digs her fingernails into his leg, pulling up pinches of flesh and she twists hard enough to break skin, though not, unfortunately, quickly enough to do any real damage before Ikkaku jerks away.

"Alright, just like that," he says with a grimace, "and moving on."

* * *

><p>She misses the feel of a warm body curled around hers, too-thin arms draped over her shoulder and Ikkaku's there. Solid and real- but when Rangiku imagines settling down with a boy someday, she sees a flash of silver and a wide, thin grin. For now, she's drunk and lonely because the boys don't keep their stash hidden very well; Ikkaku's there and he's still a <em>boy<em> so as much as he complains, she can feel his resolve giving way. She knows she won't be his first (he isn't hers, either) and it shows in the way his hands are steady on her hips, his lips firm and sure over hers even when she backs him up against a wall.

When he turns them so he's pinning her in place, tongue darting out to just wet his lips, he asks if she's sure, if this is alright, if she'll regret this later and Rangiku knows she won't. She tells him as much and when he smiles, presses hard against her, hands sneaking under the shirt he had lent her and knee pressing between her legs, she leans into the touch.

A while later, she's curled under Ikkaku's blankets, hair still wet from her bath. Ikkaku's taking his turn standing under the spray of water, scrubbing down with soap and drying off before dragging on an old pair of sleeping pants. Rangiku thinks that Yumichika would either be glad to have his bed back, or about to throw a hissy fit because she's taken up in his space.

Really, all he does when he gets home and sees the two of them curled up in Ikkaku's bed, her with her head pillowed on Ikkaku's chest, him with one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, playing with her hair, is head back to his room as if it's nothing new, and he had expected it to happen at some point anyway.

Rangiku isn't sure whether to be offended or not, but it becomes a regular sort of thing because Ikkaku doesn't take what they're doing very seriously, but he does take emher/em seriously. She overhears him and Yumichika arguing once- and the two of them are a lot of things, but they're not bad hosts so as soon as she steps into the room, they stop.

Gin comes back, eventually, and she kisses Ikkaku goodbye. A far-from-chaste press of her lips against his, and Yumichika gets a warm peck on the cheek. Gin's expression darkens, but when Rangiku puts her hand on his elbow, chattering about how much fun it had been to live with the two of them, the look fades away.

* * *

><p>She meets them again four years later, this time across the bar counter. Ikkaku's poured someone a shot of tequila, set a small bowl of salt on the counter and he nearly cuts himself with the old paring knife he's using to slice up a lime when he sees her. Yumichika's staring from across the room, but turns away abruptly when she catches his eye and ducks into a nearby room. She's just behind and to the side of Kenpachi, the man Gin had asked to hire her because <em>she'd be good, she really would be, I ought'a know.<em>

"Hey," she says, all confidence and sly, coy smiles, and she sees Ikkaku's adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"Uh," he replies. "Hey."

Kenpachi inclines his head. "Madarame Ikkaku. Matsumoto Rangiku. Ikkaku, you like your hands? Keep 'em off."

"'S a pleasure," Ikkaku says, and his smile is sharp. "That ain't really gonna be a problem. Right, Matsumoto?"

Rangiku's own grin falters at that, but she recovers almost instantly. "You don't need to worry about me, Mr. Zaraki. This Ikkaku fella looks like a real gentleman."

Zaraki's expression seems to ask what the hell kind of mushrooms she's on, but he doesn't comment, nods and walks away.

Rangiku settles down on a bar stool while he finishes cutting up that lime and then moves over to pay attention to her. "Been a while, Ikkaku."

"Looks like you're doin' alright."

"Always am."

Ikkaku leans back, a little away from the bar even as Rangiku leans forward, but he doesn't seem to be trying to get away from her so she doesn't take it personally. Just one of those threshold things. He says, "Take it you're workin' here now?"

"You'd be right."

He flashes her one of his smiles, the genuine kind she had seen so often in those weeks two years ago but this was only the first time today and she wonders what he's been through in all that time. "Good to see you again."

"Yeah. You too."

* * *

><p>It occurs to Rangiku that Gin is standing beside the wrong person.<p>

It's when she's got an arm around his neck with the jagged edge of a broken wine bottle poised just above his carotid artery that she realizes she can't kill him for it.

The white-knuckled grip on her own wrist isn't strong enough to stop her (Gin is still, after all these years, all skin and bones) if she had wanted to kill him, but she lets him throw her off, hard enough to hit the ground on her shoulder. Aizen fires a shot that just barely misses her- though knowing his skill, she's sure that Gin had struck a deal with him- and Tousen leads the way out of Wandering Souls.

The rest of the exchange is a blur and ends with Ikkaku on the ground with his chest split almost in half because he's the sort of idiot who acts first and if he gets hurt, then at least he's bought time for the rest of them to recoup. Yumichika's out of commission nearby, Iba clutching his own leg where he'd been shot and Zaraki Kenpachi, of all people, handling the field medicine on his subordinates while he's cursing Old Man Yamamoto out for choosing three traitors.

She thinks it's odd until it occurs to her that a veteran of the Great War would know enough first aid to hold two people together until real medical help could arrive. Rangiku doesn't recoil from Zaraki's shouted orders, and scrambles to her feet to check that Yumichika's still breathing.

Renji had been shoved out of the way early on, and he arrives back with Doc Unohana and two of her assistants in tow.

As a testament to her skill, no one dies- which isn't to say that no one had been close because a whole bunch of them had been close, and when they rebuild, Boss Zaraki doesn't hire any new hands for a long time.

* * *

><p>"Truce," Yumichika says, and she knows it's because he knows she's hurting, "but just because I know you don't have your obnoxiously blue eyes on Ikkaku anymore."<p>

That manages to pull a laugh out of her the way nothing else has, and he presses a glass of something cold and strong into her hand. "Truce," she replies, and they toast to a brighter future.

* * *

><p>"I didn't do it for you," Gin insists, and Rangiku tells him that she knew that already, that he only does things for himself, that he's selfish and that he's a traitor and that he had left her. They both know he had meant I did it for you and he knows, too, that she means what she says. Rangiku had never needed him to look out for her.<p>

Even if she hates him for it, and she sometimes does, Gin knows how to weigh his options, too, and he's decided that she's worth it.

* * *

><p>He loves to see her walk. Hips swaying, tips of that long fall of gorgeous hair cascading over her shoulders, and Rangiku is one of those few women who are truly beautiful in that timeless sort of way. The girls nowadays try to hide their figures, rejecting their innate beauty in exchange for the thrill of freedom and rebellion- he understands, but the way Rangiku embraces everything she is is what makes her unique, what makes her stunning, what makes her his.<p>

Gin pulls his hands out of his pockets and quickens his pace to walk beside her, one arm snaking around her waist to rest a hand on her hip.

He doesn't smile, but he doesn't frown, and Rangiku doesn't shove him away or start to make a scene and they walk in that comfortable, neutral silence she really does enjoy once in a while. He doesn't get to see her very often- Aizen and old man Yamamoto hadn't been on speaking terms since Aizen broke off to start his own joint, taking along with him a good piece of their partnerships (and a few better chunks out of some of the Wandering Souls crew).

When he does catch her on the street, those few times he's in the city when she's walking between work and her own place, he walks with her. Or if he's driving, gives her a lift.

She leans into his side in the sad way she does when she misses him, but won't come out and say it. Gin lets a smile curve onto his lips- a genuine one, the one he reserves just for her- and steers them towards a Chinese sweets shop. They don't have those in Atlantic City, and all he wants is a pack of dried persimmons, in her company.

He asks with a piece of the fruit between his teeth, "Ya ever been to a diner, Rangiku? They got a real good one down in Jersey."

"Don't got 'em in Chinatown, though."

"Come to the boardwalk sometime. Ya'd like it. We can walk on the beach an' everything."

Rangiku nods, this time linking her arm through his, though she knows she probably won't be going to New Jersey any time soon, much less Atlantic City where Aizen had begun to build his own network. She never really liked long drives or train rides, anyway. Boss would burst a blood vessel if he knew she actually let Gin walk around on the territory, and she knows Ikkaku will get wind of it from the shopkeeper, but she can't quite bring herself to care. She'll deal with them when they start on her, and not a moment before she has to.

If nobody else, Yumichika would understand.

A block away from Wandering Souls, Gin moves his hand up to her shoulder, squeezing affectionately before pushing her down the block. "I gotta meet with some Italians for Boss Aizen. 'Sides, the old crowd ain't gonna be all that happy ta see me, huh?"

Rangiku turns back, and looks at him the way she always does when she finds out he plans to disappear again. He just shrugs, and gives her a jaunty little tip of his hat. "I'll see ya 'round."

"Later, Gin."

She nods and turns to go. Gin watches her turn the corner before he sighs and checks his tie in a shop window.

They never do say goodbye.


End file.
